It snowed the other day. And although it is March, this is Chicago so it isn’t that unusual. Snow happens and the world moves on. I have always loved the snow, especially if I do not have to go anywhere. Somehow the neighborhood seems quieter and warmer as if it is insulated.

One of the last times I remember this feeling was on Christmas Eve 2013. My mom had been diagnosed with cancer and undergone one surgery already. She was scheduled for another after the New Year holiday. Having just gotten home from dinner at my sister’s house I was surprised when she said she wanted to take the dogs for a walk. She had been tired lately. She was never much one for walks and shared my love/hate relationship with the dog.

All clad in our Christmas Eve PJs and Ugg boots, we grabbed the leashed pups and ventured into the snow. The dogs were excited to go on this late night adventure and I was happy to spend a little extra time with my mom. We didn’t walk far, I remember. Just half a block and back. The streetlights sparkled on the snow and it was almost warm from the puffy white blanket that had fallen just hours earlier. I wish for the life of me I could remember what we chatted about. I’m sure it was inconsequential. But the feeling of those moments are burned into my brain. It was something that until now, I don’t think I have ever even told anyone. There’s no particular reason why I haven’t. Maybe it is because the moment was just our moment.

When it snowed this past week, I took McK out for a walk in the quiet wonderland. It was just as I had remembered over three years ago…quiet and almost warm even though the temperature hovered in the low twenties. We ran through the snow with the dogs trailing behind us. I wore my mom’s boots as mine had worn out long ago. And as the snow started to fall again, I couldn’t help but think they were special flakes meant just for the three of us to share together.